The Gold Robes
by TMONACELLI
Summary: Set in the Northern Forests of Wisconsin, a group of muggles are enjoying their afternoon when the International Statute of Secrecy is tipped off. The wizards who investigate believe they have modified everyone's memories, but they are incorrect.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 : A Note on the International Statute of Secrecy

Established in 1689 by the International Confederation of Wizards, the International Statute of Secrecy (officially named the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy) was created with the intent of protecting wizards from the mass hysteria and violent repercussions of the larger muggle society. It should be noted though that this law was also created with the intent of keeping muggles safe from Wizarding society. For centuries there had been attacks, killings, even massacres from both sides. The I.S.S. was a fiercely legislated effort that sought to separate these worlds totally and permanently.

Although the act took the better part of two centuries to come into its own (and even now, some parts of the world have a more lenient attitude towards an open magic culture), by the 21st century, the law reigns over the globe. It's nearly impossible for a wizard or witch to enact their magic near a muggle without the I.S.S. tracers detecting them. What's more, over the three hundred years of I.S.S. enforcement, the Federation Investigators (commonly referred to as Gold Robes) have brought their response time down to near instantaneous rates. Stationed strategically around the globe, it is said that there is always a Gold Robe within an apparition away.

The I.S.S. has continued to be overseen by the International Confederation of Wizards. They and the Federation Investigative Branch are considered to have general immunity to individual magical governments. Any civil or criminal grievances against these bodies or allegations of wrongdoing must be brought up to the Supreme Mugwump at the International Wizengamot (a second arm of the International Confederation of Wizards). To date, there have been twenty three such cases brought up to the court, all have been dismissed with evidence stored and sealed.

While there have been numerous efforts to modify or even repeal the I.S.S., no magical government has been able to form the legislative majority needed to make any serious changes to it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Flyboys

The afternoon was as pleasant as one might ask for in Northern Wisconsin. Wispy clouds in the sky softened the warm summer rays, making sunscreen an afterthought. Bug repellant on the other hand was most decidedly not an afterthought in this part of the state. The Nicolet National Forest and its endless trees (each of them fifty feet high but just as round as a person) was an ideal breeding ground for mosquitos, horseflies, gnats, and ticks. Anyone who was used to the area knew to wear long pants and long thick shirts on even the warmest days- or to resign oneself to the bugs. Just don't complain about them because no one up here had any sympathy for it.

The boys in the truck did not wear sunscreen, use bug repellant, or wear particularly shady clothes. It didn't really matter what they would have put on though because by this point in the afternoon they knew just exactly how covered in mud they would be. Caked in was probably a better description- later that night, they would need to run files under their nails, and to pick at the very deepest of their noses to get the last smudges of dirt from their bodies. This was the way it was when your group went mudding though. The more you can cover your truck (and the people in it) the better the outing.

Martin Higgs was driving the truck that afternoon. His massive red beard, the easiest way for people to pick him out from afar, had seemingly turned dark brown from the afternoon. He ran his fingers through it from time to time to squeeze the mud out of it and fling it out the window. Next to him, Paul Wayne was not bothering to clean the mud off of his own face. He didn't typically care much how he looked, always wearing the same dozen or so tshirts that were ripped and faded (and many did not fully cover up his ample belly). Paul was shouting along to the country station booming through the truck speakers that Martin had installed. Each of the guys in the group had a very similar truck, with similarly outsized wheels, and a similarly impressive and deafening speaker system. It was more fun to pack everyone in to one truck though rather than each person sit alone in their own, so the four of them took turns with who would drive each weekend.

In the bed of the truck, John Arrynd sat next to Matthew Fischer. John and Matthew were both a year younger than the guys in the front of the truck, and more often than not, they were delegated to this position. While Matthew didn't really mind getting teased and forgotten and being kicked out of the shotgun seat, John had never really felt comfortable with his fate. His favorite Saturday's where when their group went out on his truck, taking his trails, and listening to his music.

As it was impossible to talk in the truck bed when whipping around the curvy single lane roads of the backwoods, John and Matthew leaned against the back window of the cab and watched the forest race behind them. Occasionally overhead they would witness a hawk or other large birds of prey soaring between the gaps in the trees.

They were driving down a particularly steep hill, heading towards their next pull off road, when John saw something incredible.

"Holy Mother!" he said, pointing to the trees to the left of them, "did you see that! Did you guys see that?"

"See what?" Matthew said. He leaned forward onto his knees so he could get a view to the other side of the road. "Where am I supposed to look?"

But it was too late, what John thought he saw, it couldn't be though, well, if it was them, no one would believe him, and more importantly, at the speed that those guys were traveling, they would be long gone by now.

"What happened?" Matthew repeated. He had seen the shock and disbelief on John's face, and he was now buzzing with excitement. "Was it an eagle or something? A meteor? What did you see?"

John opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself, it was crazy, there was no way he saw what his brain was telling him he saw…

"Come on man," Matthew said again, "What happened? Are you messing with me or-"

But before he could finish that sentence, John saw them again. Both of the boys did this time.

Three young men, from just above the tree line, flew over the highway. They were wearing robes the color of the sky- and almost blended in, except for their laughing faces, and their bare feet hanging below the broomsticks that they were seated on.

Broomsticks! Teenagers flying between the trees, right over their heads on sticks of wood!

"Holy Mother!" John repeated.

"I can't believe it!" Matthew said.

Martin, seeing the same spectacle in the rearview mirror, yelled, "What in the hell?"

He was not watching the road, and a car driving towards them must not have been either, because moments later the two vehicles collided in a rather nasty fashion.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Gold Robes

"So what do you think happened here?" Denny Raymond asked.

Raymond was five six years old, one of the oldest Gold Robes in their district, and yet he was also one of the most junior. He had worked for quite a while as a healer's assistant before joining the federation bureau, and the sight of grievous injuries generally didn't faze him. Since getting to the scene of the sighting, he had all but ignored the bodies, and instead was making his way around the car wrecks, his wand flicking this way and that to put out small fires on the vehicles.

Rachel Johnson, the other Gold Robe assigned to the sighting was squatting near the driver of the small car. Although nearly half Raymond's age, she had ascended the ladder quickly and now was one of the leads that was used on more difficult cases. Since getting to the sighting, she immediately had stupefied the various people in each car, and was now making her way from person to person to perform the customary health diagnostic spells.

"I mean, the muggles obviously crashed into each other shortly after three wizards set off some tracers in this area," Raymond continued, "but do we know that these are the guys who spotted it?" "We may not need to obliviate anyone…"

Johnson, who was concentrating on mending a fractured collarbone on the driver in the small car, did not reply to Raymond. Once she was satisfied that the driver would be ok, she made her way over to the truck, healing a gash on the large passenger's shoulder. He awoke for a second, his eyes blinking open first in confusion and then wider into fear.

She immediately stupefied him once again, and then went to the bed of the truck where a third boy was laying, his hand bleeding freely from crashing against the now cracked rear window. Johnson mended the cut and then began applying a salve to the other bruises and scrapes on his body.

"Is he going to be ok?" Raymond asked? He had finished tending to the fires and was now trailing after Johnson.

"He's lucky," she replied, "sitting in the back of the truck without any strap holding him in place- he could just as easily have been shot out onto the road behind us."

Raymond nodded and glanced in the direction that she pointed. She became alarmed when he ran to a ditch twenty yards or so behind the truck.

"Johnson! Looks like someone did fall out."

Johnson- having determined the boy in the bed of the truck would be alright hopped down to the ground and hurried next to Raymond. There in the rut a few feet below and to the side of the road, another boy was sprawled out.

"Do you think…" Raymond started to say, but Johnson was already down next to him. Her diagnostics found a pulse, he was breathing, he was stable, but being stable and being fine are two very different things.

"Head injury," she muttered as her wand scanned over the top of his head.

Raymond glanced back and forth as if checking to see if they would be overheard. Serious injuries (and a head injury would definitely be classified as such) meant either apparition to Crossed Wands in Minnesota (the nearest Magical Hospital) or worse, a trip to the Muggle hospital.

"How bad as it" he asked gently.

"This one has been concussed- that's not something we can fix out here." Johnson said. "We leave this one here and he may die."

"Well- what then? Crossed Wands? That's at least a few apparition points away."

"No," said Johnson, "I don't want to risk this one on that type of trip."

"So the local muggle hospital then… But that means…"

Johnson gave Raymond a quick look and he stopped talking.

She kneeled back to the boy on the ground, her eyes closed in concentration. Then she seemed to make up her mind.

"Raymond, in two minutes, you will need to enervate the other four individuals. Access their memories with legilimens to see if they spotted the flying wizards. If they have not, confound them. If they have, you will need to obliviate their memories."

"But-" Raymond started to say, but Johnson cut him off.

"This is too serious of an infraction to implant a false memory on them. Once their law enforcement shows up, they will be questioned at their muggle hospital. We can't take any chances with this- you will need to remove this afternoon from their memories."

"It's never goes that easy though- you know that, sometimes it's-"

"If you accidentally take a week, that's that." Johnson continued. "It's never more than that and you know it."

Raymond bit at his lip and didn't want to meet her eyes, but she knew that he would follow her instructions.

Satisfied that everything else would be taken care of, Johnson reached into one of the pockets sewn into her left sleeve. She extracted a small glass vial with a neon orange liquid in it. She didn't notice that the boy on the ground had already opened and closed his eyes during the conversation. When she lifted his head gently off the ground, his eyes opened once again, this time staring back at her as if she were a hundred feet away.

"Wha am I doing?" he said, his voice low and exhausted.

"Drink this," Johnson said.

She thought she may have had to open his mouth and coerce the liquid down his throat, but he took the vial from her and downed it.

As she expected, the effect was immediate.

John Arrynd's eyes shot wide open. He bolted up from the ground as if his body were on an electric wire all the while crying out in pain.

Johnson considered casting a silencing charm on him, but John stopped yelling in a few moments. Clutching his head in his hands, he seemed to take all of his concentration to look back at Johnson.

"Who are you and what happened to my head?"

Johnson had already placed her wand back into her holder and was now holding both arms up in the air in a non-threatening gesture. This did nothing to calm John though, whose eyes were still completely open. Johnson was one of the best legilimens in her office though and it took her no time to see the entire incident in his memory.

"Alright," she said. "Please calm down, I'm here to help."

"Who are you?" John repeated, "why are you wearing those strange clothes? Is this a prank or something?"

Quick as a flash, Johnson had her wand back out and aimed it at his head. "Confundus" she whispered and John's eyes slid out of focus. It took more work this time but she was able to view his memories and they were now a chaotic mix of the crash, the afternoon, and dreams. He would remember nothing once his mind healed, except perhaps the crash itself.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "this is going to taste awful and then make you feel terrible. You will not remember any of this but it will all be recorded and available by request of Federation of Investigators through the I.W. I'm going to give you a pepper up potion that will keep your mind up and alert for twenty four hours. This will allow your concussion to heal and will prevent your own death."

The boy did not seem to understand anything that she was saying, but instead was holding his own pained skull and whispering to himself.

"I apologize once more," Johnson said, "because your muggle hospital will likely decide that you were on muggle drugs, I believe they are called methamphetamines and were logically the result of this crash. No one will be able to corroborate this story. The bureau regrets any personal injury done to you through this encounter; however, I am confident that my superiors will agree that this is better than any alternative."

She glanced back at Raymond who of course had been watching her the entire time. He nodded.

Going to another sleeve in her robes she pulled out four similar vials full of the neon orange container.

This time John did fight back to avoid drinking the liquids. She had expected that too though and soon enough she had given him all of the potions.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Worst Sort of Hangover

When John eventually came to, it was not in a good way. His head felt like it had been ran over a few times by his truck. Thinking was hard, and it hurt. Focusing on- even looking at things, was hard (and it hurt). When he woke he found that he was sitting upright in a chair, that he was wearing different clothes and shoes, and that his eyes had never closed.

"Where am I?" he asked.

What he should have asked though is "How did I get here" as he knew where he was- his living room. He was seated in the easy chair underneath the 14 point Buck. To his side was a TV tray with a large glass of water next to a half-eaten Ham sandwich.

"For the hundredth time…" his dad started to say, but he stopped himself.

"Kathy- am I seeing things or is he back in his eyes?"

"What?" John asked.

His mom walked over to him and got uncomfortably close to his face- studying his eyes as if they were a particularly difficult optical illusion.

Finally she pulled back, "John, who am I?"

"Mom, Dad- what happened?"

His mom and dad shared a huge look of relief before turning their attention back to him.

"You're home," his dad said. "We just brought you back from the hospital."

A sudden squeeze of pain rang through John's head. He closed his eyes and held his breath till it went away. Finally it stopped, but his head still prickled from the slightest movement.

"The Hospital?"

"Ohh no," said his Mom. "Maybe he's not back yet."

"He's back- you can see it in his eyes. The doctor said he may not have all his memories yet."

"Why was I at the hospital?" John repeated, "Oh, can you just tell me about this later, I'm so sleepy."

But his parents seem prepared for this. His dad shoved him back against his chair so that his back was straight and his head looking back at him. His mom yelled, "WAKE UP!"

"Alright- ok. Geez you don't need to yell at me," he muttered.

"Yes we do," his mom said. Her voice was still quite loud, as if she was debating about whether to keep yelling or not. "You were in an accident and you've suffered a fairly severe concussion. The doctor insisted you not sleep for the next six hours."

"When was the accident?" he asked, "What happened?"

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the most recent events in his memory. The days in summer all had a similar rhythm to them- his friends getting together and piling into one of their trucks… The truck!

"We crashed," he said, looking back at his mom and dad.

"Yes," said his mom.

"Is everyone ok?" he asked.

They nodded and John was able to breathe a sigh of relief. No one got seriously hurt, well – except him.

"What happened?" he asked once more.

His Dad and Mom shared another look, and then some sort of understanding passed between them, his mom left the living room to go to the adjoining kitchen where she pulled a few papers from a pile on the counter. His Dad moved the living room couch around so that it was directly facing John.

"We were going to wait till you were fully healed, but I need to- we (he added as John's mom took a seat next to him on the couch) need to know- what were you doing with methamphetamines?"

"What?" John started to say- but his dad put a finger up.

"Don't- Don't lie to us. We have the doctor's report. You were on a very potent version of- what do they call it honey?"

"Speed," his mother said. She had her reading glasses on and was reading through the Hospital report.

"An unknown variant of the drug, perhaps three to four times more powerful than what they normally encounter in the ER, oh sweetie, what were you doing messing around with this stuff?"

John closed his eyes once more trying to remember the truck and the accident. There was a hill, he was pointing at something in the sky, and then he was flying in the air. Was he on drugs and that was what was blocking the full memory?

"You should be happy to be alive," his dad said, although his tone was greatly at odds with what he was saying, "the doctors are surprised the speed didn't give you a heart attack."

John had never done speed or methamphetamines or any drug before. His buddies liked to drink beer in a few spots in the woods (although it was usually warm and skunky from being stashed under bushes) but none of his friends were into that kind of stuff. Why would that have shown up in his medical report?

"You have some decisions to make," his dad said, his voice growing ever more serious. "The police are willing to work with you on this."

"The Police!" John yelled. He regretted raising his voice right away as, besides greatly annoying his dad (and hurting his Mom), it also made his head ring with pain. He felt like someone had yanked the various nerves around his skull and it took him a few moments to get back to normal.

"What do you think this is John?" his dad said. "You think riding with your friends, high as a kite, your car causing a major accident and no one is going to blame you?"

"I've never done speed or whatever they're saying I did!" John barked back. The effort hurt his head once again, but he was furious and didn't care.

"We've got a blood test that says that you did," his Dad shouted back. "Now is not the time to play the wrongfully accused- you could go to jail for this!"

At these words his mother started to cry. His dad gave John another angry look before he put his arms around his wife and quietly told her it would be alright. John watched them from his seat, his head now throbbing regularly. He tried once again to remember just what had happened- there was a hill, something in the air, he had pointed it out to Matthew who was next to him…

"I wasn't driving," he said.

"We know," said his dad. "You couldn't have landed where you did if you were seated in the front of the truck, with a seat belt, like you promise us that you always do."

The words stung and he had no retort to them. He always told his parents that they were taking two trucks and that everyone would be buckled in. It had never been an issue, until now.

"Well yeah," he said lamely. "I was in the truck bed- and yes I should have been in a seat buckled in- but that just proves that I wasn't driving and couldn't have caused the crash!"

"That's not how the police see it. That's not how the Insurance Companies see it. They see this accident, you being near the driver, they see the illegal substances that are in you, and they all figure that you can be brought to court."

"I swear – I didn't do" he started again, but his mom was just crying harder now and his dad was shaking his head.

"Fine," John eventually said, "What do the police want me to do to make this better?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Citations

What the police wanted, unfortunately, was impossible. They wanted information on the seedy drug dealer(s?) that provided him with whatever substance that he was on.

"You don't have a name- you don't have a number…. Do you at least have a place where you would have met this guy?"

John stared back at the two incredulous detectives sitting across the table from him at the interrogation room of the Rhinelander Police Department. The man asking him the question was named Detective Myers, his partner (who had not said asked anything yet) was introduced as Detective Dennings.

"I told you, I don't remember taking the stuff, much less getting it. I have no idea where it came from."

Detective Myers took a long sip of his coffee and spent a half minute or so re-reading through the file. While he was doing this, Detective Denning's watched John in silence.

John knew that the two were trying to intimidate him. They were content with taking all day if they needed to. They had leverage on him (although it still made him furious to think that he was at fault when he wasn't even behind the wheel) and they seemed to all but certain that he would eventually talk.

"Walk me through the day's event's again," said Myers

John ran a hand through his long messy hair and tried to remember that morning in detail. The strange thing about that day was that all he really could remember was his friend's face as he looked up at something in the sky, and then a moment suspended in time as he was flung from the back of the car. He didn't remember getting up that morning, didn't remember anywhere they had traveled together, didn't remember what road the accident had happened on. The whole day was a blur.

He didn't remember, but that didn't mean he didn't know his rehearsed story.

"I got up around 9:30- my parents were already gone. My friend Martin picked me up- we hit the spots that I already mentioned in the woods- we were heading to a turn off on 32 to have a drink when the accident happened."

It was the same thing he had said twice that day. He had figured out the times and places from the police report and the stories his friends had privately told him. It didn't make sense to deny the beer in the woods as they had each admitted to this themselves.

Detective Dennings crossed his arms and continued to stare at John.

"Matt and I were seated in the bed, Paul was riding shotgun and Martin was driving. We were going down a hill, when Matt pointed to something in the sky. I looked at it- then we must have hit the other car because I went flying. I don't remember anything more till I woke up in my parents' house."

"Matt pointed to something?" Denning's asked. It was the first thing he had said all day.

"Yeah, I said that- he pointed to something above us, I didn't get a chance to see what it was and then-"

But Denning waved a hand back and forth to stop him.

"In your statement, you list looking up in the sky above. You didn't say that Matt was telling you to look up."

"Well… Yeah," John said, not sure what the detective was getting at. "I mean, I guess I could have mentioned that."

"The reason I ask," Denning's said, and now his partner was taking his turn staring at him closely, "Is because we have a statement from Matthew saying that you were pointing to something in the sky."

"What?" John said. "No- that's not right. He was looking up at something- I remember that."

"You remember that," Denning's repeated.

"Yes," John said. "Clearly."

"As opposed to the rest of your story?" Denning asked.

John shook his head quickly. "No, I remember my story, I… Look- he was looking up, I was looking up, the point is- we were both looking at something behind us, in the sky, and then the drivers, behind me- through metal and glass and music (SO THEY COULDN'T HEAR ME AND I DIDN'T CAUSE THIS CRASH he wanted to shout at the detectives) they were involved in an accident while we were looking up."

"At what again?" asked Myers.

"I don't remember," said John.

"You remember everything, including what road you were traveling down, but you don't remember what you and Matt were looking at?" repeated Myers.

"No"

"Even though you clearly remember Matt telling you to look in the sky?"

It was a bad moment to be at a loss of words, but John for the life of him couldn't think of what was in the sky. Weirdly, he couldn't even imagine anything that might be a passable answer. Like something in his mind was stubbornly rejecting any sort of idea that might fit in there. Instead all he could see was Matt pointing up and away.

"Ok," said Denning after a very nasty silence, "So this is the point of the investigation where most people ask for a lawyer."

"That's not really an option," John said. He had already talked to his parents about this and both of them had been clear, _take whatever deal you can get as we don't have money for this!_

"You have the option of a state appointed public defender, they do pro bono."

John nodded.

"But," said Dennings very carefully, "and this stays between us right here- if you waive your right to the lawyer, play ball, we'll reduce the charges to a misdemeanor. No jail, negligible fine, no charges hanging over you."

 _Take whatever deal you can get_

John opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything there was a quick knock at the door. Another Detective, most likely a senior member judging by the surprised looks of the detectives in the room, was standing in the doorway. Looking towards John, he shrugged his head towards the exit.

"You're free to leave," he said. And then, after glancing at the paperwork on the table, "don't sign anything- the detectives will see you out."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Dopey Muggle Tracking Jobs

Rachel Johnson walked out of the police station under the same glamour that she had walked in on. She and Denny had had a brief argument over whether impersonating the commanding officer would be riskier or if memory charms would be easier. Denny disliked (and distrusted) memory charms more than any other Gold Robe she had encountered before. At times, she wondered what exactly had caused him to detest them as much as he did. Today she relented and agreed to undergo some light glamour's from their team's magical makeup department.

Johnson didn't mind the glamour, in wizard society, people generally could tell if you were wearing one (there was a sort of magical glow that most trained adults could pick up on) but in the muggle world, most people bought it hook, line and sinker. It was much easier to apply then polyjuice, somehow more legal (although she would leave that up to the bureau legal team), and it was a cinch to undo. She walked into the station and immediately knew that no one would question her if she were to walk past them. If anything, most people seemed anxious to look back at their computers or files. The worst case scenario would be if the actual chief would walk in, but at that point, she would simply kill the lights, confound everyone, and no one would be the wiser.

She didn't worry about that though, she had a feeling that the actual chief wouldn't be in that day, and her hunches were more-often-than-not correct. Instead she wandered around as if she owned the place and in no time at all she found the fifth of the muggles she had been trailing that day-the concussed one that they had not modified his memory. From outside the door she could tell that the boy was alert and reasonable healthy looking (if a bit panicked and exhausted). She just needed a few minutes with him alone to figure out his past forty eight hours and then with one more memory charm they could close the books on this case.

It had been more fun than she would ever admit to walk up to the detectives and order them to hand over all the paperwork on this. They were exactly like her junior Gold Robes- surly, defeated- definitely about to complain about her as soon as she left the room. But they handed the paperwork over to her without questioning it and then it was two quick confounding charms and the whole matter would just be a case of déjà vu to them going forward.

After slipping out of the building, Johnson gripped the wand in her pocket and whispered the disillusionment charm. She felt the usual sensation of a wet, warm invisible substance trickle along her body- and a quick glance at her feet, which were now the exact color and texture of the ground underneath her, confirmed that no one would see her.

She took out her wand now (it too immediately took on the exact look of the world around her) and pointed it ahead of her. "Corpus Revealus" she whispered and then she felt a slight bang of energy shoot out from the end of the wand into the far off distance. It was as easy to follow along as a piece of string on the ground, and she followed after it- a zig zaggy path that took no notice of streets or buildings or streams or anything that might be difficult to walk over. No matter though, she simple would take the next street over, or duck through an alley, or take the bridge, momentarily leaving the cord of magic that she had been connected to- she knew close enough where it would be on the other side, and then, soon enough, she would find it again and continue along her path.

She had never been to Rhinelander WI before- she generally stuck to Minneapolis, but this is where the muggles had been marked and so here she and Denny would be for the time being. She liked this small "big town" though. It was the only real city within an hour in any direction and so it had all the trappings of a larger city within a few streets. There were a few big box stores, fast food restaurants, a movie theater, a chain hotel, a local hotel, a police station, a library- and a few neighborhoods.

John, her concussed muggle, seemed to live at the very last house along the very back roads of the town. Immediately behind the house was a small hill with a railroad track running along the top of it. The backyard was not very big, it had space enough for a few lawn chairs and a patio table, and that's where she found John sitting at this point. He was shaking his head back and forth as if he were having an argument with himself- and it seemed this was exactly what he was doing because as she got closer she found that he was whispering.

"They dropped the file entirely! When have police ever just dropped a file? They had me- They had me!- Some sort of B.S. task for me- who knows what that would be- and then there told just to drop it? Why did they drop that file?"

Johnson placed her wand back in her pocket (although she kept her grip on it) and she walked directly in front of the boy. She waited till his eyes were closed (it seemed a little easier on muggles to see something after opening their eyes rather than to actually observe magic happening) and then she whispered the counter to disillusionment.

Upon seeing her, the boy rubbed both his hands over his eyes and then shook his head back and forth as if trying to shake it into working properly.

"Hello," Johnson said in a deliberately calm manner. "You must be John."

She had expected him to gape back at her, or perhaps to yell, "Who are you? How did you do that?" or even to look around wildly for some sort of help or an escape- what she hadn't expected though was for him to bolt from his chair and run!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Ghost Runner

It had been a very strange afternoon for John. Just another in a series of strange afternoon's really. He had not been able to remember almost anything of the past two days, really the last thing he remembered was being in the back of that pickup truck and seeing his friend Matt point up to the sky-

then flying, then waking up with the most painful headache of his life, then hours of questioning and threats from his parents, followed by more of the same from the police. And then he was suddenly free of all charges, free as a bird—and none of that made sense to him of course, but what made even less sense, was when sitting in the lawn charge in his back yard, a woman popped out of the sky. She knew his name, of course a woman popping out of the sky knew his name.

But then the strangest thing of all occurred- this woman from the sky, with her dark knowing eyes and her serious expression- he knew her! He couldn't remember anything from the crash on, and then seeing her face, he remembered exactly what had happened. The police were right, he had seen something in the trees… He had seen three guys flying over the trees on nothing but broomsticks! He had thought he was crazy until Matt pointed at the sky, coming from the opposite direction now were the same group of boys seemingly racing each other over the woods.

It made sense, Martin must have seen it from his rearview mirror and rode into the oncoming car, or maybe the oncoming car saw it and hit them. It finally came together now- everyone must have had similar amnesia from the accident and forgotten it.

Then he had his second realization- there were people flying on broomsticks… There were people appearing out of the air… There are people with special powers that up to know had been completely unknown.

Then the third realization, and this was how he knew everything else to be true, he recognized the woman who had popped out of the air. He remembered her face. He remembered how she had bent over him while he was laying on the dirt. How she had flashed her wand past his eyes and how he had felt her eyes, her very self, gazing through his own and right into his mind.

She had explained some things to him, about how she was there to help him, about something called a "pepper up potion" and something called a "Federation of Investigators" and about how she was preventing his own death. That had led to his lost time and all this trouble.

John was not the fastest cross country runner on his school team, but at the moment that he got from his chair and made a break for the streets, he might have been the fastest cross country runner in all of Wisconsin.

"Wait," the woman behind him yelled, "John, stop right there."

John had absolutely no intention of stopping. He crossed the street and ducked through a neighbor's backyard and then another quick turn down the next street towards the town center. He chanced a quick look over his shoulder and saw the little woman in the distance. Up ahead there was a pizza hut, a gas station, and a pawn shop. He went into the pawn shop, the little bell above the door dinging as he raced through the cluttered isles. Soon he was through the back door and (after checking the street to make sure the woman was not in eyesight) he made his way into the side entrance of the pizza hut. He ignored the hostess and servers around him and made his way to a booth near the front window. Careful to take a seat so none of his body was visible- he chanced a quick look outside. The street was empty. He sighed and then backed out of his seat to find the bathroom in the rear of the building that he could hide out in. Except, as he opened the bathroom door, she was waiting for him, a wand trained at his head.

"Obliviate" she snapped at him, but somehow his mind had anticipated seeing her there and was already directing his body back through the restaurant and onto the streets of Rhinelander. He glanced behind him and suddenly she popped out of the air a few feet behind him. How was she doing that? He broke off the street he was on and turned to the nearby woods.

He knew these woods well and could easily lose track of most people following him in here- except she appeared to be able to figure out where he was going and pop in to wherever that was. What he needed to do, if he had any hope of shaking her, was to get much farther away, and much faster too. The problem was, she knew his house. Did she know Matthew's as well? He hoped not as he raced through the woods to the general direction of his friend's house where his truck, with the key under the wheel well, would hopefully be waiting for him.

And it was! The truck (same make and year as his) was parked at the edge of their driveway. He didn't stop to check if anyone was inside the house or watching from down the street. He found the keys, jumped in the drivers seat and peeled away.

From his view in the rearview mirror he saw a figure pop out of the air precisely where the truck had just been. She watched him leave- and he could have sworn she was shaking her head a bit in disappointment.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Code Blue

Johnson watched the truck race down the street. The corpus revealus spell that attached John's body to her was struggling to keep pace. She considered apparating into the seat next to him or even in the bed of the truck but aiming for moving vehicles was a major risk and really shouldn't be attempted except in life or death situations.

She cursed herself for not just obliviating the memory when she was standing in front of him in his back yard. What was she doing revealing herself- it was completely unnecessary. Except… and she knew this would not appear on her report… it did seem necessary. It always seemed necessary to look the person in the eye before you wipe their mind. Otherwise, you're a thug, a coward, a serious creep. Even in the academy when she and the other Gold Robe cadets (Yellow robes they were called) were running practices- the instructors advised them not to obliviate a target from behind. Not from the side- not when they're sleeping- but face to face. The instructors always said it was because you needed to verify that the mind was unobstructed before altering it- although that had never made sense as whatever precautions one was taking before obliviating, the spell itself was meant to literally damage the memories of a brain.

Johnson always assumed they too were uncomfortable with harming someone's mind from an unexpected place. So in general she looked at people before she did it- and in most cases (although this too would definitely not make the report) she tried speaking with the muggles first to try and explain what happened. Many of these muggles took this badly, but none, until now, had managed to run from her.

The truck was long gone now and she felt her spell falter. She would need to find some other way of tracking him now. Sighing, she pivoted in a quick semi –circle. Anyone observing nearby would hear a "SNAP" and then see that she was no longer there.

Johnson apparated back to the small cottage that the Bureau had secured for her. She had been there for almost a week, but any visitor of the house would be surprised that anyone was staying there at all. The bed looked untouched (she used a simple "tuck" charm on it each morning), the tables and counters free of any paperwork, food, or items. There was no dirt or debris to be seen.

Johnson kept all of her notes and equipment on her person. Throughout her training years, she had put a sizable amount of savings aside with the promise to herself that when she graduated, she would indulge in one major purchase. She kept that promise- the afternoon of her graduation she and her parents went to McKennonn's Fine Goods in Minneapolis. She went straight to the trunks and containers counter and pointed to the small, silver purse towards the bottom. It was no larger than her fist, the strap, no wider than a rubber band. It costs nearly $40,000.

That purse would be worn under her clothes since that moment. It was waterproof, lightning-proof; generally tough as hell. You could fly thousands of feet into the sky, drop it onto a stone floor and the insides wouldn't be damaged. It was feather light. It could only be opened by her hands, and it had been tested to fit an entire city block inside it. It was said to be uncurseable, although that may be the only claim for it that she had her doubts in. The only downside to a purse like this, was that there was no comfortable way to live inside it (one would die fairly quickly without oxygen and being squished to nothingness). Still though- it was ideal for all her stuff.

Johnson removed from her purse a few splintery logs of firewood and placed them carefully into the fireplace. She flicked her wand and a cheerful little fire popped up. Taking a pinch of Floo Powder from a pouch in her purse, she flicked them in and waited.

A moment later, Denny's face appeared in the fireplace.

"Johnson!" he yelled, a look of relief and annoyance on his face. "Did you get him?"

Johnson shook her head. "He fled before I could obliviate him. He's driving west now, probably ten miles away by now."

Denny's eyes widened. He glanced back and forth in the room as if the suspect was lurking around their office now.

"What do you need from me?" he asked.

Johnson pulled her head back from the fire for a moment and glanced down into her purse. She extracted a small vial with a clump of John's hair.

"Give this to the potion boys to see if they can scry on him. They'll say they are too busy, but insist that they get an image and sound on him. Once they do, let Wiese and Normandy know that they will be observing all his movements until I say we are done."

Denny jotted this information down as quickly as he could. "What about me?"

"You're going to wait at the muggle's house in case he decides to stop running."

"What about you?"

Johnson sighed. "I don't think he's going to stop running anytime soon. I'm going to hit the road."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Running From a Nightmare

John drove as he quickly as he dared down Highway 8. He knew that the state troopers liked to hide in the pull-off roads obscured by brush and trees. He tried his best to slow before each of these little spots but he was far more concerned by that teleporting woman than for a speeding ticket.

It was crazy- her being in one spot one minute and another the next. He wished he had videotaped it so he could see exactly what she looked like the moment before she vanished. Did she lose color like an old TV turning off? Did parts of disappear first? He wished he could see what it looked like when she appeared somewhere. What did that sound like? What happened to the molecules in the air that she suddenly was taking up?

Yet, he had no proof- he was still not certain that the last few days hadn't been one terrible hallucination. Maybe he was on drugs after all and all of this was just one massive trip.

He glanced for the twentieth time into the rearview mirror to see if she was popping up somewhere along the road (or worse yet, in the bed of the truck). She wasn't there. Something inside him felt like she was not nearby, although he had no idea what to make of that.

He was driving straight down the highway that would eventually take him to Tomahawk and then Wausau, Point, Madison, Illinois, Texas, South America…. He had no idea how far he needed to go to get away from her.

But even if he did get far enough away, and she somehow was not able to find him, what then? Was he just going to start a new life somewhere?

The uncertainties and unanswerables pinged at his brain and partly out of his helplessness he reached for his phone and selected the first name that came to mind.

"How's it going?" said Matthew, the friend of his who had unknowingly lent his truck that afternoon.

"It's… ok" John said. He saw something out of the corner of his eye- a cop? Some teens on ATVs? The woman? He had no idea but he was going to turn north at the next intersection anyway.

"Are you there?" Matthew said.

"What? Yeah," said John. He turned right at a fourway intersection and gunned the car down a highway with small lakes on either side (a perfect road with no spots for troopers to wait to catch you).

"You called me, man" said Matthew. "What's going on?"

"Nothing-"John started to say but then stopped himself. "Hey- do you remember that crash from last week."

"Are you ok?" Matthew asked. "You sound weird, is everything alright?"

"No, not really. Tell me again what you remember from the crash."

"I don't know. I told you- we were going down Crystal Lake road, there was something, a bird or something, that I pointed to in the sky, and then we got in a huge crash. Shit went black."

"Do you remember flying people? Do you remember a man and a woman tending to us?"

"Flying people? Are you high?"

"No!" John said, his anger and frustration getting the better of him. "Did any of the other guys mention the people? Do they remember wands? Pepper Up Potions? People flying on broomsticks?"

There was a silence for a long moment. John didn't realize he was holding his breath for it.

"Where are you?"

"What?- You didn't answer my question."

"Your question didn't make any sense. You sound like you are driving- where are you?"

John hung up the phone and tossed it to the seat next to him. The call was probably a mistake as his friend was now worried about his sanity and would soon put two and two together regarding his missing truck. He pulled off the road into a small parking lot which fronted an empty pier. There were a few people on the lake. The sight of people lazily fishing in canoe's made him feel suddenly very exposed.

John walked quickly around the lake, sneaking glances at each of the people in boats to try and see if they were looking at him. He wasn't sure if he wanted them to look his way or not. One of the fisherman in the canoe did seem to be watching him- his eyes were on him the first, second and third time he glanced his way. The fourth time, the fisherman was talking to the other fisherman in the canoe and openly pointing at John.

John hurried along the lake towards the endless forest that stretched behind it. He was not sure where he was going, but the forest at least sounded like he would finally be away from everyone.

He pushed through the low brush surrounding the perimeter of the trees- it was the same waist high hawthorn mess that he was constantly trimming down in his own backyard. His hiking boots and thick denim jeans easily moved through it and soon enough he was on a deer run that allowed him to walk relatively easily through the trees.

John always experienced the weirdly contradicting feelings of being alone and being watched while walking through the woods. Watched in a way an animal, prey, would be. There were creature's here- deer in the distance, raccoons, squirrels, foxes hidden on the leafy grounds, owls and all manner of birds watching from the trees. There were likely bears somewhere- although hopefully not this close to the highway.

He could handle the animals- he could handle this environment. He found a small clearing, a circular patch of dirt surrounded by tall, shady trees. He sat down in the dirt, his back to one of the larger trees, and before long, his eyes were closed and he was asleep.


End file.
